Page 55 of Illegal Formation
“Are you hitting on me, Claire? A bit unprofessional, but hey, I’m into it.”
She tried so hard not to laugh, but couldn’t refrain. “Let’s not even joke. HR would have a field day. That may be the only thing worse than one of you hooking up with a football player.”
I swallowed, a nervous smile finding my lips as I held up the pants again. “Then I’ll do my best to keep my perfect ass contained this time.”
“A blessing to us all.” She snapped, holding up her finger. “Oh, before you go. We had a podcast reach out to us asking for dancers who may be available for interviews. They’re a pod focused on women’s sports and want to dive into the world of women in the NFL. Would you be interested in speaking with them?”
My jaw unhinged. “I… yes, oh my God, yes. I’d love to.” I pointed my thumb into my chest, looking over both shoulders just to be sure. “You are askingme,right? Emily Huxley? Rookie and resident thorn in your side?”
“Yes,” Claire answered with a knowing grin. “Contrary to what you like to put off to everyone else, I see past your self-deprecating jokes and know how smart you are. I think you’d be perfect for this.”
I opened my mouth, shut it again, and found myself surprised when my eyes watered a bit as I managed a smile. “Thank you,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
Claire nodded. “I’ll give you the details for recording when I have them. Until then, try to stay out of trouble?”
“Someone once told me I’m trouble with a capital T.”
“Let’s try not to prove them right.”
With a wave, I excused myself from her office. My heart was a tittering bird in my chest. I pressed a hand to my ribcage, smoothing the mixture of excitement and anxiety there.
Of all the dancers, she wantedmeto do the podcast?
Not Darcy, who picked up choreography like she’d been born with counts in her bloodstream. Not one of the veterans who knew how to answer questions with polished smiles and media-trained sound bites. Me.
The girl who cracked jokes when she was nervous. Who hid behind sarcasm and sharp edges to keep anyone from looking too closely. The one who had never quite shaken the feeling that she’d slipped through the cracks and landed here by accident.
My grip tightened on the leggings in my hand.
Claire didn’t just ask me. She said she saw me.
That realization lodged somewhere deep in my chest, pressing against ribs that already felt too tight. Because it wasn’t just about a podcast. It was about being chosen. About someone looking past the mess I presented to the world and deciding there was something underneath it worth listening to.
Worth trusting.
I vowed not to make her regret it.
It was quiet at the stadium. Tuesdays were typically the players’ day off. Sure, some of them still showed up — the masochists, I guessed. But for the most part, it was staff only, a day for cleaning and resetting.
Which was why I was a bit surprised to find a cute, curly-haired woman tapping away on her phone as she whisked toward me.
She was wearing the most adorable and bizarre outfit, a gold and brown plaid skirt over black sheer tights and a mustard yellow cardigan with a white-collared dress shirt beneath it. Her brown loafers moved swiftly, like she was a woman on a mission, and she glanced up at me with a warm smile andhellobefore she was looking at her phone again.
The moment she passed me, she swung to a stop so fast it made her spin in place.
“Hey, are you Emily?”
I blinked. “Yes?”
I wasn’t sure why it came out like a question. Maybe because I had no idea who this woman was, and had never seen her before in my life, and she was calling me out by name.
Her smile widened, phone dropping to her side. “Of course you are.”
She mused the words as her eyes took me in — not in a creepy way, but in the kind of appreciative way that made me love women so hard. It was like she was about to compliment me on my outfit or my hair or the way I’d done my makeup that day.
Pure reference and awe.
“And you are?” I prompted.
